


London Dairy Rum

by murderofonerose (atmilliways)



Category: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
Genre: M/M, after the earth was destroyed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-13
Updated: 2011-11-20
Packaged: 2017-10-26 01:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atmilliways/pseuds/murderofonerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur's had a very wild night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

{Part 10}

 

Arthur had just woken up, and without even opening his eyes he was already very disconcerted. 

Despite it being impossible (as far as he knew), he felt very much as though he was floating unsupported in mid-air. He waited a moment, hoping the feeling would go away. 

It didn’t. 

Very slowly, he cracked an eye open and saw... nothing. He tried opening the other eye as well. It didn’t make a bit of difference. The only thing he could discern about his current surroundings was that they were utterly devoid of light. He whimpered, closed his eyes again, and waited another moment in the hope that this time the bizarre sense of being utterly alone would go away. 

It still didn’t. 

 _Don’t panic,_ he told himself. _That’s what Ford would say, right? Right. Okay. I wonder where Ford is… No, I have to figure out where_ I _am first. All right then. What’s the last thing I remember?_

 

 

 

 

{Part 1}

 

The Heart of Gold was parked in the shadow of a small moon that orbited a star that occupied a small and unimportant niche in the Galaxy. It had been parked there for some time. There were several problems with this. 

Firstly, they were running out of alcohol. 

Secondly, someone had smashed the Nutri-Matic Drinks Dispenser on the very sensible grounds that it clearly wasn’t helping things. 

Thirdly, Trillian was sick to death of playing Scrabble. 

“Why don’t we play cards instead?” she asked Arthur. 

“We don’t have any cards.”

She rolled her eyes. “Seeing as how I actually had the foresight to pack before I left Earth, I happened to bring some along.”

Ford ambled past, holding a half-empty bottle by the neck and singing tipsily. Arthur forgot to take offense at Trillian’s comment and watched his friend’s progress with the vague idea that if Ford fell over or something that would at least give him something to do, even if it was only helping the alien find his feet again. 

They were all beginning to get extremely bored, and it spoke a great deal about the availability of drinks that Ford was nowhere near a state in which he would actually be drunk enough to fall over. He had begun conserving what was left of the stash under his bed, so the song he was singing was a rather gloomy one. 

Arthur sighed as Ford made it across the room without incident, then turned back to Trillian. “I don’t know how to play any card games,” he said. “Well, except for Happy Families, but I don’t think that really counts.”

“I can teach you,” she replied determinedly, and left to retrieve the deck of cards from her room. 

 

 

 

 

{Part 11}

 

 _Well,_ thought Arthur in his isolated bubble of floating blackness, _that’s hardly informative. How did I get from learning to play a card game to… wherever this is? And why was there nothing else to do? I thought the guiding philosophy was Excitement, Adventure, and Really Wild Things…_

But none of the answers to these questions seemed to be forthcoming, so he decided to have another go at sorting out his immediate circumstances. 

He experimented with moving his left hand. It moved, but stiffly. Not the kind of stiffly that warns of premature arthritis, which he had always been a bit paranoid of developing, but as if he’d been lying on it for quite some time and the blood flow had gone a bit squiffy. This seemed very peculiar, because it didn’t feel as though he was lying on anything. He moved his left leg and felt the same sort of stiffness. 

His right hand and leg, conversely, felt perfectly fine. 

Worried now, Arthur tried to sit up. He couldn’t. There was something directly above him that he kept encountering with his face, but he couldn’t tell what it was. Relieved to discover that at least he wasn’t floating in a completely empty void, he brought his right hand up and felt the thing. 

It was a pillow.


	2. Chapter 2

{Part 2}

“There are many different versions of rummy,” Trillian told him as she shuffled her cards. They were actually two decks together, every card back bearing a picture of two dolphins leaping from a sapphire blue sea and nosing back down towards their reflections. “This version is called London Dairy Rum.”

Arthur took a moment to file this information carefully away in a mental compartment labeled Potentially Useless Information.

“All right,” he said.

“I’ve written out most of the rules for you here—” she paused her shuffling to slide a small piece of paper with neat handwriting his way “—so you don’t have to ask and accidentally give your hand away.

“It’s very simple,” she continued. “There are six hands. At the beginning of each hand the dealer deals nine cards to each player. The first step is to make whatever sets or runs you need to start putting cards down for that hand, or melding. Since this is the first hand, we each have to make two sets of three cards. Cards in a set can be any suit, but they have to be the same number. Sets of three means _at least_ three, and once you put down the specified cards for the hand you’re playing you can put down any other sets or runs you happen to have as well. You can then also lay off cards, which means you can play on my melds. The goal is to get rid of all your cards before any of the other players do.”

Arthur had the distinct feeling that his eyes were beginning to glaze over.

“At the beginning of each turn, you have to draw a card. After I finish dealing I turn over the top card on the pile – like this – and you look at your cards and see what you might need to draw to build your first two sets. If you want the card, you take it. If you don’t, take the top card on the pile, put it on the card that’s face up, I take it, and then you draw a new card for yourself. At the end of your turn, you discard one card. Oh, and jokers and twos are wild. We can go over scoring later. Okay?”

She looked at him expectantly.

“Um,” Arthur replied. “Right.” He squinted at the rules she’d written out for him, then at the nine cards he was holding. Between those and the avalanche of words she’d just loosed at him, he thought he might possibly be able to muddle through at least one round.

After a while, he decided that difficult after all. Still, Trillian consistently won every hand they played by a fairly wide margin, even though it was obvious she was trying to go easy on him. For a while he entertained the hope that this was because she was developing a soft spot for him, but eventually was forced to concede that it was because he was a beginner and she didn’t want to discourage him completely.

Because she really, _really_ didn’t want to play any more Scrabble.

 

 

 

 

{Part 12}

A pillow. What was a pillow doing there, and how was it hanging above his face like that?

Arthur considered for a moment, then realized with a startling turn of his stomach and the vestibular system of his inner ear that he was in fact lying on his left side, and the pillow was not above him but next to him.

Furthermore, he realized that he was not floating at all. It just felt that way because the side he was lying on was completely numb, and he was surrounded by pillows that were soft enough to go virtually unnoticed.

 _How the hell did I end up surrounded by pillows_ , he wondered as he struggled to roll over onto his back.

And ended up landing on top of something that was almost, but not quite, entirely unlike a pillow.

 

 

 

 

{Part 3}

Arthur and Trillian were on their fifth game of London Dairy Rum – and Arthur was beginning to think that maybe he wouldn’t loose this hand quite so badly as usual – when Zaphod leapt onto the bridge with a startling whoop that caused both humans to drop their cards.

“I’ve got it, baby!” he announced, flashing two exceedingly dashing grins at them. Well, at Trillian anyway. Arthur just happened to be there. “I’ve worked it out!”

“What?” Trillian asked.

“The coordinates to one of the coolest places in the Universe!” He walked confidently over to the control panels and started pressing buttons.

“Oh,” grumbled Arthur, “is _that_ what you’ve been doing all this time?”

Zaphod shot him a look that managed to be cool and annoyed at the same time. “Hey you semi-evolved simian, it’s not like _you_ could have figured it out. You’ve never even been to this place, you’re so unhip. It only took me so long because I had to factor in the Improbability of finding it when I can’t actually remember where it is. And I couldn’t do _that_ without the right conditions.”

“And what would those be? Consuming enough intoxicating beverages that you could siphon your brains out and pour them back in the right way up?”

“No,” Zaphod replied, missing the sarcasm entirely, “those would be being painfully sober and desperate. That’s why I had to smash that stupid drinks machine. And now here I am, and BANG! We’re on our way!”

“On our way where?” Ford asked, wandering back in. “Somewhere with drinks, I hope.”

Arthur shot him an annoyed look – because he knew that if it involved alcohol (which it most probably did) then the ginger-haired alien would be all for the idea regardless of how annoying Zaphod was being. Ford, however, didn’t notice.

“Not just drinks, baby, _everything_. We’re going to—”

The rest of his declaration was lost as the walls sprouted butterflies made of buttered toast and a mariachi band passed loudly through on a purple brick road, hidden from clear view a moment later by a zeppelin made of soda water. Arthur scrambled to pick up the cards before they crawled away and put them, for lack of anywhere else, in his dressing gown pockets.


	3. Chapter 3

{Part 13}

 

The thing Arthur had just rolled on top of made an _oof_ sound and struggled to push him back over. “Get off me…”

“Ford?” Arthur’s panic began to subside. “Ford, is that you?”

“Yes,” Ford wheezed, “but not for very long if you don’t _get off me_.”

Dutifully, Arthur did as he was told. “Where are we?” he queried into the pillow in his face.

Behind him, he could feel Ford struggling to sit up. It was obviously quite difficult because there seemed to be a lot of flailing involved. A hand landed on Arthur’s shoulder – there was something a bit off about that, but he couldn’t work out what just yet – as Ford gave up on finding purchase against the pillows and used him as a means of support.

“Hmm,” said Ford. “We are definitely… someplace dark and full of pillows.”

“Ah,” replied Arthur. “I did manage to work that bit out on my own. I mean it more as, where _specifically_?”

Something was niggling at the farthest edge of his memory – or, more accurately, from somewhere in the big gap in it. He wondered what it was, because the most recent thing he could remember before waking up in the dark was learning how to play a fairly simple card game.

 

 

 

 

{Part 4}

“It’s a pub,” Arthur said. Of course it would be a pub.

“Not just _a_ pub,” Ford corrected as they entered. “It’s _the_ pub.”

It was actually more of a club, but Arthur didn’t particularly care to argue the distinction nor be questioned on how he knew to make it. He selected a small table along the wall and sat at it. Zaphod downed several things very quickly and pulled Trillian towards the dance floor and Ford went off in search of his own drinks and someone to dance with, leaving Arthur alone with a glass of something pronounced vaguely like “gin and tonic” that was anything but.

There was also a small bowl of what looked like peanuts. These, too, were anything but. Still, they tasted all right to Arthur, so he ate them anyway.

A while later, Ford was quite agreeably drunk and having a great time. He was surprised, though, when two arms wrapped around his middle, hauled him away from his current dance partner, and spun him clear off the floor in a wobbly circle.

“Fo-ord,” said a familiar voice – familiar except for the boundless and completely unblemished cheerfulness it contained. “I found you!”

“…Arthur?”

Arthur giggled. “Hi.”

Ford rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help a small grin. “You’re really drunk, y’know that?”

“I’m not drunk, I only had one drink,” Arthur burbled. He gave Ford a squeeze. “Hello, Ford! I want to dance. Can we dance? Let’s dance!”

As funny as he found the situation (which was quite a lot), Ford felt some minor obligation to make sure that whatever his suddenly very friendly friend had consumed wouldn’t have any nasty side-effects – and, if it didn’t, to get himself a glass, and maybe Arthur another. The human needed to relax more often, and Ford was never one to say no to extra friendly attention.

“Sure. Show me what you were drinking, and then we can dance.”

Arthur nodded enthusiastically and led him over to the table, one arm still draped carelessly around his waist. Ford’s eyebrows shot up as the hand attached to that arm rubbed against his hip. Then he broke into a grin. _Extra friendly indeed_ , he thought. _That must be some drink_.

He picked up the empty glass and sniffed. It didn’t seem very interesting. He licked the rim. Didn’t taste terribly exciting either. His eyes drifted down to the half-empty bowl in the center of the table, which Arthur was eating something out of.

“What are those?”

“Peanuts,” the Earthman replied happily. “Try one, they’re really good.”

Ford was about to comment on the likelihood of the food in this place being better than the drinks but was distracted by a sudden close inspection of the small thing Arthur had just popped into his hand.

“Arthur,” he said slowly, “these aren’t peanuts.”

“Aren’t they?” Arthur shrugged, a big silly grin on his face, and brought another handful up to his mouth. “They taste exactly like—”

“Don’t eat that!” Ford tugged on his arm, sending several dozen of the not-peanuts skittering over the tabletop and onto the floor. “Don’t eat any more of those. Arthur,” he explained slowly, “you’re _high_.”

“Oh.” Arthur considered this. “Is that serious?”

“Potentially. What you need is to lie down somewhere and sleep it off. Don’t you know that this is—” Ford sighed. “No, of course you don’t. But look, people’s brains have been known to _explode_ from too much of this stuff!” He made a big flailing upwards gesture to demonstrate this, staring meaningfully at Arthur. “And I don’t want your brain to explode! It would be messy, and I wouldn’t be able to bring you with me to pubs anymore.”

“Oh.” Arthur considered this again, and finally shrugged. “All right,” he said. “Can we dance now?”

Ford closed his eyes and sighed. “No, but I’ll walk with you back to the ship… just as soon as I have another drink.”

“Hooray!” Arthur cheered, apparently drawing no ill comparison between the two vastly different plans, and threw his arms around the Betelgeusian’s neck. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Ford,” he added, planting a kiss on his cheek and nuzzling against his neck.

Ford sighed again and flagged down a strong drink. He had mixed feelings about how the evening was going – concern muddled with amusement muddled with a definite appreciation for this new, cuddly side of Arthur that was probably just a reaction to a fairly common party drug that the human hadn’t known to expect – and he was quite sure that he would need the extra alcohol in his system for something or other along the way.


	4. Chapter 4

{Part 14}

Ford seemed to be rummaging around in something – probably his satchel. 

“Do you have a torch or anything?” Arthur asked. 

The sound stopped. “I don’t know yet,” Ford told him with a hint of annoyance. “I’m trying to look.”

“I think the point of trying to find a torch is that you need to because you _can’t_ look,” Arthur commented. 

Ford sighed. “Look, you got us in here. If you’re not going to do anything useful to get us back out again…”

 _Ah_ , thought Arthur, _now that’s something_. “How did I get us in here, exactly? And where is here?”

There was a pause. “You don’t remember?” Ford sounded as though he was frowning. 

“Well, no. That’s why I keep asking where we are. Nowhere dangerous, I hope.”

“No, I’m almost entirely positive we’re somewhere on the ship. Look, Arthur, about last night…”

“Yes?”

Ford cleared his throat. “Well, you were high.”

“I was?”

“Yes. You were very… giggly. And happy. It was like… what I imagine what talking to the ship’s computer while being trapped in a perpetual hug machine would be like. Only not as annoying.”

“Oh.” Arthur turned this over in his mind for a moment. He had a vague sense that it was a little more serious than that, but oddly enough he didn’t feel all that worried. 

“And, ah…” Ford coughed. “Well, I was drunk.”

“Oh,” Arthur said again. 

“So… I think you can guess where things went from there.” 

The sound of rummaging through a rather full satchel in the dark picked back up. Arthur lay on his completely left numb side for another moment, then struggled to sit up without rolling over onto Ford again. Though, there had been something a little strange about that as well…

 

 

 

 

{Part 5}

Arthur liked the way everything felt nice and floaty. It seemed as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders while he hadn’t been paying attention, leaving him wonderfully free. He especially liked the way Ford was walking next to him, slightly unsteady on his feet and leaning into the arm Arthur had around him. Thinking about this, Arthur beamed and pulled the rather drunk Betelgeusian closer, saying, “I’m glad you’re here, Ford.”

“Mm, so you’ve said,” replied Ford, accepting the hug amicably. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Pleased with this response, Arthur paused in the open hatchway of the Heart of Gold and put a second arm around his very nice friend. Ford’s head rested perfectly on his shoulder, his strongly flavored breath just brushing against Arthur’s neck. He felt his arms tighten around the smaller man, one hand creeping down and patting Ford’s bottom. 

The thought that this felt exactly right struck him and filled him with warmth from head to toe. 

Ford raised his head and met the human’s slightly unfocused gaze with his own pretty, pretty blue eyes. “Now Arthur,” he said, grinning slowly, “are you really prepared to put that there?”

“Yes,” Arthur replied, for once absolutely and positively sure of something, completely free of doubt or uncertainty in the face of something new. This, he was willing to admit, probably had something to do with the fact that he was high, but it seemed like such a natural conclusion to have reached that he didn’t really care. Especially not when Ford’s hands came up to rest warmly on the sides of his dressing gown. He felt certain that this was a point they would have reached eventually and that the exact circumstances didn’t make it any less right. 

Lips pressed against his and he let his own part in a swallowed sigh as the hands ran pleasantly up and down his sides. 

_Ford tastes like an alcoholic milkshake_ , Arthur thought. Then, shortly after that and a little disjointedly, _He’s always been rather good at taking care of me out here_. Then, in unsurprised revelation, _I love Ford_.


	5. Chapter 5

{Part 15}

Arthur finally managed to sit up with some help from Ford, and realized something fairly important. 

“Oh,” he said, “I’m naked.”

“That’s right,” Ford replied absently. He had given up on a torch and was pulling his copy of the _Guide_ from its cover. With the sound switched off, the screen sent strange colors and shapes scrolling across his face and provided a bit of much needed illumination. 

“I can see you now,” Arthur added in the same tone of discovery he had used only seconds ago. “You’re naked too.”

“I had noticed, thanks.”

Arthur considered the implications of the two facts he had just realized. “We are both naked, and in a dark place full of pillows.”

“Precisely.” 

“So… Why are we naked?”

Ford stared at him. “You really don’t remember,” he said flatly. 

“No,” Arthur agreed, even though it had obviously not been a question. 

“Bleeding Zarquon…” Ford flopped back into the slight imprint he had left in the pillows and closed his eyes. “We had sex. You were high and I was drunk and we both wanted to have sex, so we had sex. Sex, sex, sex!” 

He opened one eye and checked to see if Arthur was blushing. When he saw that he wasn’t, he threw his arms up in frustration. 

“And you’re _still_ high,” he complained. “How many of those bloody things did you eat?”

 

 

 

 

{Part 6}

Ford and Arthur stumbled further into the ship, somewhat directionally hindered by the fact that all either of them could see well enough to concentrate on was each other. 

Marvin glanced up as they passed the rather dusty corner he had chosen to stand in that day. He considered saying something, but the prospect only made him more depressed. Why, with his brain the size of a planet, should he be expected to stoop to conversing with people who didn’t even like him anyway? Instead, he moodily decided that if they said anything to him he would snub them by not replying. 

They continued past him, far too wrapped up in themselves to notice the Paranoid Android’s air of impenetrable gloom. 

Marvin watched them stumble into, of all places, the teleportation room, and found with a familiar glimmer of despair that being ignored did nothing to improve his mood. But then, nothing ever did. “Typical,” he muttered. “Just typical…”

Inside the teleportation room, bright lights clicked on as two very occupied persons moved through the proper sensor fields. 

Ford didn’t notice this because he had finally managed to open Arthur’s pajama top (at the expense of most of its buttons) and push the undershirt up mostly out of the way, and was exploring Arthur’s chest thoroughly with his hands while playfully nipping his way along the Earthman’s neck. 

Arthur didn’t notice because his face was buried in Ford’s curly hair and he was ecstatically lost in the smell of Ford and Ford’s very nice shampoo. He giggle-moaned into Ford’s hair as the Betelgeusian tweaked his nipples expertly and then trailed his fingertips down to the waistband of Arthur’s pajama bottoms. 

“Hello,” chirped a booming, mechanical voice. (It had never received the memo that these particular vocal qualities were never meant to occur simultaneously, but this was perfectly understandable as a Complaints Department Executive had become collateral damage in an unfortunate advertising accident before he’d had a chance to write it.) “Welcome to the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation’s Tranport-O-Matic. Please state as specifically as possible your desired destination.”

“Did you hear something?” Arthur murmured, sounding as though he didn’t really care. 

“Mm, nope.” 

Ford paused and glanced down as he approached with drunken determination the knotty problem of the pajama bottoms’ drawstring. Arthur took the opportunity to do away with Ford’s tie. He also reached under Ford’s sweater and undid the top few buttons of his shirt. 

“Got it.” Ford looked up with a grin and kissed Arthur again in passionate celebration. 

The pajama pants, which had to be tied at the waist for a reason, slid down Arthur’s legs. He kicked them off along with his slippers, now clad from the waist down only in underwear and a pair of slightly mismatched socks. 

“I want,” Arthur whispered against Ford’s mouth, “I just want to be somewhere nice and soft with you. I want to lie down and wrap all around you…”

“Sounds good to me,” Ford groaned, pressing enthusiastically against him.

“Calculating coordinates for desired destination,” chirped the booming voice of the Teleport-O-Matic. “For your comfort and convenience, the closest location meeting the specified requirements has been selected for you. The Sirius Cybernetics Corporation would like to wish you a pleasant stay at insert destination here: the Heart of Gold’s pillow supply room. Share and enjoy!”


	6. Chapter 6

{Part 16}

“I think,” Arthur said slowly, “I think I’m starting to remember.”

He paused significantly. 

Or at least, he thought it was significant. Ford was severely unimpressed and also slightly annoyed, and had turned his attention to locating what he could of their clothing. 

“But how do we get out of here?” Arthur asked. “That’s what I really want to know.”

“…Is it.”

He shrugged, which given the circumstances was an almost completely futile gesture. “Well, for a start.”

Ford sighed and sat up. In the minuscule light of the _Guide_ screen, from where he was sitting he could make out three stray socks and Arthur’s undershirt. Hardly very helpful. 

Above them he could just make out a ceiling. “There don’t appear to be any openings above us,” he mused. “If there is a door it’s probably somewhere around the level of the floor, which is probably somewhere beneath all the pillows.”

“So how do we…?”

“I don’t know that we can.” 

For a moment Ford looked as though he might add something to this rather bleak assessment. A wisecrack of some sort, perhaps, or a pointless anecdote about the use of vegetable strainers in a justly famous break-in at the First Hoopy Galactibank on Betelgeuse 5 that would somehow, in the end, turn out to be vaguely relevant in a completely unedifying sort of way. 

Instead, he merely clicked the Guide off and returned it to its case. 

Arthur blinked at the sudden return of total darkness. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

There was a long and loaded silence – the kind of silence which knows it’s been stuffed into a cannon aimed at the nearest convenient place that is as far away as possible and can be shot off at any moment, but which also knows that there is a bungee cord triple-knotted around its left ankle and that if it doesn’t depart with enough of a bang will likely only be hauled right back to be loaded again. 

“Arthur?”

“Yes?”

“Do you really remember?”

“Well…” Arthur stretched out his legs, put his hands out behind him – encountering, without realizing it, the left leg of Ford’s trousers – and leaned back on his palms as if stargazing. There were no stars visible for gazing at, of course, being inside a windowless storage room, but moving around a bit at least offered the illusion of some sort of accomplishment. “I remember being left alone at a table at that pub Zaphod was so keen on going to. Everything after that is still a bit of a…”

Ford waited patiently in the dark for a moment, then frowned. “A what?”

“Hmm? Oh. A bit of a blank, I’m afraid.”

“…Terrific.”


	7. Chapter 7

{Part 7}

Arthur let out a little whoop of laughter as the Teleport-O-Matic deposited them a few feet up in the air and they dropped down into a marvelously fluffy pile of pillows. This would not ordinarily have been his first choice of reaction towards something involving a matter transference beam, but he was too full of euphoria to feel any of the usual unpleasantness and Ford was doing something marvelously ticklish to his inner thigh. 

“Whoosh,” Ford commented with a drunken giggle. “Betcha felt _that_ drop in your stomach. Like on those whachamacallums… roller-coat thingies.” 

Then he pulled Arthur’s collar aside and did something with his tongue and teeth along Arthur’s throat that made the human’s stomach do a second summersault. 

These shirts, Arthur decided, would have to go. They were getting in the way of Ford doing other excitingly wonderful things to him. 

It was quite dark in their new location, but sight wasn’t strictly necessary. Ford, draped as he was along most of Arthur’s body, quickly caught on and helped him out of the dressing gown sleeves. They rolled away from it down a small incline, managing to shed a pair of white plimsolls, a pajama top, and one sock along the way. 

When they stopped spinning, Arthur found the sides of Ford’s face and pulled him close for another kiss. 

“I think I’ve forgotten which way is up,” he confided softly, pressing their foreheads together. 

Ford chuckled, shifting around to free himself from the strap of his satchel and pulling Arthur’s undershirt off. 

“I have that effect on people.” Suddenly Arthur found his hands being pinned over his head, and Ford grinning against his cheek. “Now,” he whispered, sliding a trousered leg enticingly between Arthur’s disrobed and rather fuzzy ones, “what _shall_ we get up to in this dark, secluded place?”

“Mmm…” Arthur squirmed appreciatively against him. “Kiss more?” This, of course, was merely the first of a rather detailed list that was at the forefront of his mind, but he wasn’t given enough time to voice the rest. 

“Excellent suggestion.” 

Ford kissed him soundly on the mouth, then on the nose, then down his throat. He kept going, sliding down Arthur’s chest and then crouching over his lap. Arthur groaned his approval as two hands pressed warmly against his mostly bare hips in the darkness and quickly rid him of his underpants and socks. Wanting to touch Ford, even just to pet his hair, Arthur reached down and found a shoulder. 

“Ford, you’re still wearing—”

“I know,” Ford shushed from right above Arthur’s quite sensitive erection, causing the human to groan again. “Hands above your head, Arthur. ‘S dark… wouldn’t want to poke me in the eye, would you?”

“N-no…” 

Arthur gasped as Ford peppered little kisses along the insides of his thighs, almost but not quite close enough. He was briefly delighted at having learned something new about Ford – even that he was a tease – before the hands on his hips prevented Arthur from arching up in search of more contact. But nothing could keep him from reaching down and tangling his hands in Ford’s hair.

“Now now,” Ford said, crawling slowly back up Arthur’s body in the dark, “let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’m not even indecent yet…”

Panting slightly, Arthur went eagerly about helping to change that.


	8. Chapter 8

{Part 17}

“Ford?” Arthur asked after a relatively long silence. 

Relative to what, since the backlight on Arthur’s digital watch had died and they had no way of telling the time, no one could say – but it was longer than a moment and shorter than the rest of their lives.

“Yes?”

“I think I remember… kissing. Did we kiss?”

“Yes, Arthur,” Ford sighed, “we kissed.”

“Did you kiss me first, or did I kiss you?”

In the utter darkness, Ford made a little tsk sound of exasperation. This was partly because he was irritated at Arthur and partly because he was annoyed by the fact that if he didn’t make some sort of noise specifically indicating as much Arthur wouldn’t be able to tell. 

“What does it _matter_ who kissed who first?”

“It matters,” Arthur insisted, “because then I’ll know if I’m remembering it right.”

He had a point. Ford sighed again, staring pensively in what he was fairly sure was Arthur’s direction. “I kissed you.”

“Oh.”

There was another long silence. Then Ford felt a hand fumbling somewhere in the vicinity of his elbow. 

“I think,” Arthur said, sounding like he was concentrating either on finding Ford in the dark or on what he might like for breakfast. “I think I do remember.”

His hand settled on Ford’s upper arm and stayed there uncertainly. 

“I think I do, but just... not very well, I’m afraid.”

Ford shrugged. He was a bit disappointed by this, actually (because he had rather enjoyed getting to know Arthur’s cuddlier side), but mollified slightly by the fact that at least Arthur could _tell_ that he was shrugging now. 

“And, well…” Arthur had evidently decided on what he would like for breakfast and moved on to contemplating lunch. Planning details that far into the future was sometimes a tricky business. His hand slid up to Ford’s shoulder. “Since we’re in a large dark room full of pillows, with, potentially, no accessible way out… and you’re not busy… maybe you could do it again. To help jog my memory?”

Surprise made its grand entrance in Ford’s consciousness. 

“You mean you actually _want_ me to kiss you?”

Arthur hesitated. “Is there some reason why I shouldn’t?”

“No, no, of course not.” Ford half sat up, much the way Arthur had some several weeks ago when inquiring how much damage a bulldozer would suffer if it rolled right over him. “I just expected you to be a bit more… well, _you_ about it. No offense, Arthur, but new experiences aren’t usually your forte.”

“None taken…” 

 

 

 

 

{Part 8}

Arthur snuggled back against Ford, whose clothes had been had been removed and flung who knows where. He was vaguely aware of what Ford had retrieved from his satchel and not entirely sure of what to expect… but he trusted Ford. 

“Ever done this before?” Ford asked, nipping lightly at Arthur’s ear. 

“No,” Arthur replied, blissfully unworried. Ford was good at this sort of thing, Arthur could tell. He would take care of him. 

Ford ran a hand down Arthur’s side, fingers sliding tantalizingly over his hip before disappearing briefly – then sliding somewhere else. “Shhh,” he whispered as Arthur made a little sighing sound. “Relax…”

Arthur nodded and did as he was told, but only until Ford’s fingers found the right spot. Then his whole body jerked instinctively towards the man at his back. 

“ _Ford_ ,” he gasped. 

He wished only that there was some difference between closing his eyes and keeping them open, because as Ford half-lunged over his shoulder to kiss him breathless Arthur was sure the look on his face was beautiful. 

And then one hand was in Arthur’s hair and the other was wrapped around him and something else was sliding inside and Arthur forgot how to want anything but Ford. 

 

 

 

 

{Part 18}

“Actually,” Arthur mused, “I think I might have had an epiphany earlier.”

Ford sat up all the way, feeling along Arthur’s arm to find where the rest of him had got to. “Is that so,” he murmured. He successfully located Arthur’s neck and ran his fingers lightly up to Arthur’s face. 

Arthur gasped as fingertips brushed over his lips, each little touch a surprise in the complete darkness. 

“What was it about?”

“You… I think.” Arthur sighed and let his eyes fall closed – not that it made a lot of difference. “I don’t know, I just remember having one.”

“Oh. Well…” Ford paused, their lips just shy of touching. “If the high wears off later and you decide to be angry at me, could you remember not to yell? I have a bit of a headache.”

“I’ll remember,” Arthur promised. He really had no intention of being angry, especially (he thought as Ford closed the small amount of distance between them) not at his best friend in the entire Universe. 

As Ford kissed him, Arthur remembered the press of lips, the flicker of tongue, the way Ford tasted the first time. 

Without needing to think about it his hands were on Ford, pulling him closer. He couldn’t feel every movement throughout every fiber of his being anymore, which was probably whatever drug he had inadvertently consumed wearing off, but he missed that and wanted some measure of it back. 

But it was a testament to how much the drug was still in effect that he had managed to completely forget (again) that they were both quite naked. 

Ford, finding himself suddenly in Arthur’s lap, paused, then grinned against the Earthman’s lips. “What was it that people on Earth would tell picky eaters…” he murmured. “Try it, you might like it?”

Arthur, acutely aware of all the clothing that wasn’t between them, let out a shaky breath. More had been riding on that kiss than he’d expected – his body understood that, even if his brain hadn’t quite caught up yet. 

“Um,” he replied, sliding his fingers into Ford’s hair. “I think I like it…” He could feel Ford’s grin widen. 

“Yes, I can tell.”

“And, um. By like it I mean I… like you.”

Ford shifted to straddle him. “And why,” he inquired lightly, but with a not entirely hidden note of hopefulness, “do you think that?”

“B-because I…” Arthur shivered as Ford pressed against him. “I thought of you when I first woke up, I wanted you… to be here, before I even remembered anything. But I think I remember it now and I really, Ford, _really_ liked it. I think I decided sometime during it all that I might actually love you, and I don’t know how much of that was being high but that couldn’t have been the only reason—”

Because Arthur was starting to sound more like Arthur, that was good enough for Ford, who stopped his rampant babbling with an enthusiastic kiss. 


	9. Chapter 9

{Part 9}

“Wow,” Arthur sighed. “Wow…”

“Mmm.” Ford snuggled up against him, an arm curling languorously around Arthur’s middle and lips resting gently against the slightly damp nape of his neck. 

“Love you, Ford,” Arthur mumbled drowsily. 

Ford’s ears perked up at this. “Y’do?” he asked curiously. 

“Of course… You’re my favorite person in the whole Universe.”

“Arthur, you haven’ even met the whole Universe yet…”

He shrugged. “You’d still be my favorite person in it anyway. You were yesterday, you are today, and you will be tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Ford smiled and gave him an affectionate squeeze, which made Arthur giggle sleepily. “Good. Good t’know.”

And they both drifted off in the afterglow, until some time later when Arthur woke up and without even opening his eyes was already very disconcerted. 

 

 

 

 

{Part 19}

It had been, Arthur thought, a very strange day – or, since he wasn’t quite sure if it was really a strange end of yesterday and beginning of today, at least a strange series of hours. He was strangely comfortable with it though, and not in a spacey, euphoric, drugged-up way. Ford was sprawled half on top of him, awake but content to not move for a while, and that was strangely comfortable too. 

Being strangely comfortable was going to take some getting used to. 

“Hey, Ford,” he said quietly after a while, “what do we do now? Shouldn’t we be trying to figure a way out of here or something?”

Ford made a little hrmph sound against his collarbone and stretched. “I don’t think there’s much we can do,” he said with a yawn. “Except wait to be rescued. We’re still on the ship, they’ll probably find us eventually.”

“…Probably?”

“Oh hush.” Ford leaned over and nipped at his ear, finding it with relative ease exactly where he’d left it. “You were doing _such_ a good job of being hoopy and not panicking before.”

“Well, I was a bit distracted,” Arthur pointed out. 

“I certainly hope so.” Ford, sounding incredibly pleased with himself, sat up and continued to stretch. “We could wait around to be rescued or we could go a third time, if you’re up for it…”

“Or play cards,” Arthur offered. “Not that I wouldn’t want to, well, be distracted again,” he added quickly, “but it is an option. I have a deck in my dressing gown pockets, wherever that’s run off to, and I just learned how to play a game called London Dairy Rum. I could teach you, if you like.”

Ford chuckled. “In the dark, Arthur?”

“…Oh. I suppose not.”

“Mm. So, what do you say we—”

Suddenly, somewhere above them, the heavens opened and a bright beam of light came falling into the pillow supply room. Arthur blinked frantically at the sudden onslaught on his retinas. 

Ford, of course, didn’t blink. He tilted his head and raked his eyes up and down Arthur’s body while he waited for the human’s eyes to adjust, and decided he liked what he saw just as much as he’d enjoyed what he’d felt. 

“Hello? Ford, Arthur, are you down there?” someone called down to them. It sounded like Trillian. 

Arthur’s vision finally began to clear and he stared up at Ford, blushing. “Oh,” he said softly. “Um. Hi. Wow.”

Grinning, Ford leaned down and kissed him soundly on the mouth. “I intend to continue to make you say that,” he informed Arthur. “As soon as we’re done being rescued. All right with you?”

“Um,” Arthur replied. “Yes. Yes. Um… If we’re going to be rescued, do you think we should find our clothes first?”

Ford shrugged, then sat back and yelled up at the opening in the ceiling, “Yeah, we’re down here! Do you have a rope or anything?” As Arthur crawled past him in search of clothing, Ford winked at him and patted him affectionately on the bottom. 

And Arthur, who found himself grinning like a happy fool, was strangely comfortable with that. 


End file.
